


The Sacrifice: Redux

by Hinn_Raven



Series: RVB Angst War [18]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Felix Being a Dick, Gen, RvB Angst War, Torture, Undead Felix, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-04-04 10:27:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14018250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinn_Raven/pseuds/Hinn_Raven
Summary: Felix promises Locus that he'll leave the Reds and Blues alone, but one betrayal deserves another... right?Lavernius Tucker, meanwhile, has just stumbled into his own worst nightmare. Hopefully, he doesn't end up making a deal of his own to get out of it.





	The Sacrifice: Redux

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bizarrebird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bizarrebird/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Sacrifice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13336236) by [Hinn_Raven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinn_Raven/pseuds/Hinn_Raven). 



> Have I mentioned how much I love Angst War? Because I really do. 
> 
> bizarrebird asked me for: some more Zombie Felix? But maybe this time he's got a new target: Tucker. 
> 
> WARNINGS FOR: torture, blood, injury, Felix POV which frankly warrants its own warning because it’s Felix, uh probably some pretty uncomfortable shit re: Felix and Locus’ relationship, and then some discussion of canon character death.

Here’s the thing about Felix.

He gets _bored_.

Death hasn’t helped with that; death doesn’t seem to help anything. If anything, he’s more impatient, because things don’t feel quite the same anymore.

He licks the blood off the knife and stares down at Locus, whose face is damp with tears and blood. He lies there, exhausted, but Felix knows that, under any other circumstances, it wouldn’t be enough to stop Locus from fighting back.

Felix wishes he _would_. The compliant torture victim thing had been fun, but…

He could use some variety.

When he had first started, it was heavenly. Locus has always had that too-expressive, too obvious face, always had that shiny hair and pretty eyes. Felix has, since the beginning, wanted to rip him open to see what made him tick, wanted to destroy the beauty, but had held himself back. It had been _his_ , after all. Locus was different, had been different. Felix had buried those urges, instead contenting himself with destroying everything else.

But now, Locus had betrayed him. Felix had no reason to hold himself back. He hadn’t planned on doing things this way—he had known he was going to take Locus, back to this house where they had killed Siris, but he had thought it would be with Felix covered in blood, and laughing, while Locus was catatonic with loss. A bargain had not been what he had expected. But oh, had it been sweet, sweeter than anything in the universe, Locus acquiescing, Locus breaking, and all of his own free will, just to save a couple of idiots.

Felix had indulged himself. It’s been months, and he’s luxuriating in living out every fantasy, every idle thought. Locus’s skin is littered in marks, his hair is in ruins, and those keen sniper eyes are a beautiful mess of scar tissue. Locus is a canvas, and Felix has painted his masterpiece upon him.

But it’s starting to feel like a completed work of art, the thrill of it dulling slightly, the high fading faster and faster every time, even though Locus cries as well as ever, screams as loud, and suffers so beautifully. It’s no longer enough, Felix thinks, going to fetch a razor to deal with the new growth on Locus’ head.

He’d promised Locus he wouldn’t touch the Reds and the Blues.

Once, that would have probably been a promise he’d kept.

But where was the fun in that? Locus has slowly begun to let himself die inside; oh he’s being slow, trying to conceal it, because there’s no fun torturing an empty shell and Locus knows it. Locus _understands_ him, in a way that no one else could. Or at least, Felix had assumed so, before Locus had let him fall to his death.

What is a broken promise, after that?

Drugging Locus to make sure he didn’t notice how long Felix was gone was easy—he’s done it a few times now. Not that it _matters_ if Locus fusses, but Felix likes giving him that false hope, thinking that he has Felix’s undivided attention, which keeps the others safe.

Felix takes the pelican, and goes back to that stupid moon, to pick up one Lavernius Tucker.

They’re all still there; despite their anger at his betrayal, his departure, none of them actually think that Locus would hurt them. And maybe they’re right, although Felix would love to put a knife in Locus’ hand and tell him to carve one of them open to save another. He files that thought for later, instead focusing on his surveillance.

It’s amazing how much easier this is; without an AI, their surveillance is pathetic. Even Carolina and Washington don’t notice him, lurking on the edge of their island, looking for his opportunity.

He finds his moment late that night, when Tucker goes out to sit by the sea.

Felix can’t quite fit into Locus’ armor, but he makes do. Locus is a brickhouse of a man, fucking way too tall to be reasonable, but Felix is smart. In the dark, and exhausted as Tucker is, he won’t notice that something’s off until the damage has been done.

The invisibility unit is a blessing. It’s not fair that Locus had been the one to get it, while Felix had been stuck with a shield that didn’t even cover him properly. If he’d had a real shield, like the ones at Freelancer, the bubbles, he might not have died.

So what if it hadn’t lasted? Felix still remembers the pain of falling, the way all his bones had crushed, the way that the glass of his visor had split his face open.

Felix remembers it, and therefore, Lavernius Tucker will pay.

“Go away Wash,” Tucker says, not even looking up as Felix stands there. His eyes are firmly on the horizon. Perhaps he’s looking to see if he can spot Locus returning. Tucker was always soft like that, so _soft_ , so willing to _trust_. Even Felix and Temple hadn’t dulled that, apparently, and it makes Felix want to laugh with anticipation. This will be so _fun_.

“I’m not Washington,” Felix says, and the voice changer makes his voice sound like Locus, and Tucker spins, nearly falling face first into the sand as he tries to get to his feet and turn at the same time.

“Sam!”

That’s when Felix activates the sword—the sword that Tucker has no reason to think anyone but Locus can use—and tries to drive it through his throat.

Tucker is fast, even out of armor, and lets out a yell, rolling to the side. He’s unarmed—his own sword is gone, although Locus is still refusing to tell Felix where he hid it. He’s out of armor, he’s too far away from his friends to call for help, and he’s vulnerable.

“What the hell?”

Felix says nothing, because it would ruin the illusion—despite what Locus used to say, Felix _is_ capable of holding his tongue, when the situations call for it.

Despite everything—the anger that Felix has seen through his surveillance, the bitterness, Tucker still didn’t believe that Locus would hurt him.

It’s all too sweet, really.

Tucker has gotten faster, to his surprise. Out of armor, he darts around Felix, trying to tackle him from behind. He should be going for the gun at Felix’s side. It’s not loaded, but Tucker doesn’t know that. But no, Tucker is still too soft to go for the kill. Perhaps he thinks this is a nightmare.

“Sam, it’s me!”

There it is, that name again. Why does Tucker know it? How much did that _idiot_ manage to pry out of Locus?

Something ugly, like jealousy, like rage, curls within Felix. Locus was _his_. How _dare_ Tucker worm his way in there, and tug Locus’ secrets out of him, one by one.

He had gone after Tucker for his own reasons; Tucker had been the one holding the grenade, after all. But now, there’s another reason. He had guessed that Washington would be the one that Locus would break for.

Now, he thinks it’s Lavernius Tucker.

He tries to throw Tucker off, but there’s a hiss of air as Tucker hits the back seal of the helmet. That’s a surprising way to go about it, and Felix hisses, trying to stab Tucker as best he can without hurting himself.

The helmet falls off.

There’s a sharp intake of air, and Felix throws him off. Tucker collapses to the sand, and his _face_. He’s gorgeous, all wide, horrified eyes, his mouth hanging open, fear etched into every inch of his face.

“Hey Tucker,” Felix says, straddling his chest and pressing the glowing blade of the sword against his face. He doesn’t let it cut though—no point. He wants to leave blood, and for that, he’ll need either a too large wound than he wants to risk right now, or a weapon that doesn’t cauterize.

“Felix.” Something like understanding flickers across Tucker’s face. His eyes dart from the sword to Felix’s face. “Where’s Sam?”

“Alive,” Felix grins. “For now. He’s not going to be happy with me for this, you know.” He reaches into one of the hidden compartments in the Locus armor and removes a knife. “He made me promise to leave you alone.” Felix leans closer. “But you know, I’ve been thinking. You killed me, Tucker.” He lets the knife dig into Tucker’s throat, causing Tucker to let out a hiss of pain. “You. None of the others. So really, Locus can’t complain when I bring you back. Besides,” Felix grins. There’s raw, wide panic in Tucker’s face, and Felix wants to savor it. Tucker is like Locus in that aspect; their faces are both wide, honest, and open. “I think he could use the company.”

He knocks Tucker out then and makes sure to leaves some marks in the nearby shrubbery with the sword. The Locus armor has distinctive footprints. Tucker’s blood stains the sand.

The Reds and Blues will come to their own conclusions.

Felix puts Tucker’s unconscious body in the shuttle and goes back to the house in the suburbs.

* * *

Tucker wakes up, and there’s rope around his wrists and tape on his mouth and Felix is there.

“Shh,” Felix says. They’re in a hallway somewhere—there’s carpet under him, and he’s been propped up against a wall, one with _wallpaper_. “I think Locs is still asleep.” There’s a knife in his hand, so Tucker does keep quiet, even though he wants to fucking scream and scream and never stop.

Because Felix is _here_ , and Locus is either his prisoner or is working with him, and Tucker’s not quite sure which one’s worse, but Felix is _alive_ , and Tucker thinks he smells something rotting, and he just wants to wake up.

Felix unlocks a door.

Locus is not, in fact, asleep, but is sitting with his back to the wall, and Tucker can’t help but make a noise when he gets a look at him. Felix’s knife digs into his throat in response, but it doesn’t change that Sam looks _awful_.

Tucker is shoved into a corner, and Felix moves away from him to approach Locus, who’s just sitting there, not doing anything, as Felix grabs him and shoves him forward into the center of the room.

“So, what’ll it be today, Locus?” Felix says. “I think your legs have been left alone too long, don’t you?”

Locus says nothing, and it’s then that Tucker sees the scars on his face. He’s _blind_ , Sam’s _blind_ , he doesn’t see Tucker, he doesn’t know that he’s here, he doesn’t realize that Felix has apparently violated whatever agreement they have, and Sam doesn’t even move when Felix stabs him in the back, the knife digging into his shoulder. He does scream though, the noise awful and pained and somehow _resigned_ , and Felix laughs, which just makes it worse.

“Shhh,” Felix says, and _he’s_ looking right at Tucker, his face twisted into a cruel facsimile of a smile. “There, there… I got something for you while I was out.”

Fear flares on Locus’ face, and Tucker tries to work on the knots. But these aren’t the regulation handcuffs that Wash taught him to break out of, or the silky loops of bondage rope. This is some sort of freakishly sturdy shit, and Tucker _can’t reach the knots_.

Felix leaves Locus and strides across the room towards Tucker. Tucker lets out a pained yelp as Felix rips the tape off his face, and then he’s thrown across the room, towards Locus.

“Say hi to Tucker, _Sam_. I thought you might be getting lonely.”

There’s a soft noise. “ _No_.”

Locus struggles to rise to his feet, but Felix is fast, and he slams his foot right on top of the knife wound he’d just left in Locus’ back. “Shh, none of that.”

“You—”

“He killed me,” Felix says, shrugging even though Locus can’t see it. But his eyes are fixed on Tucker. “So how’s this sound for a new deal? You behave, and I don’t touch him. He just gets to watch you suffer. How’s that sound, Tucker?”

“Yeah? And what happens when I misbehave?” Tucker demands, struggling to get to his feet.

Locus lets out an agonized scream as Felix digs his hell into the wound.

Felix grins.

“He pays, of course.”

Tucker says nothing. He tastes bile on his tongue.  

Felix leaves them alone after that.

Locus doesn’t get up until after Felix leaves. “Tucker,” he says quietly, shoulders hunched, like he’s expecting another attack.

“Shut up,” Tucker says irritably. “Help me get out of this, will you?”

Locus tilts his head. Tucker flushes, realizing that Locus can’t tell he’s tied up. “He’s got my hands tied. Think you can handle it?”

“Probably,” Locus says, and gets to his knees. His shirt is soaked with blood, and Tucker feels pretty terrible about that, but he’s got to be practical here, and he can’t help Locus until his hands are free.

It takes forever—Locus’ hands are unsure in a way they’ve never been before, guiding himself through the knots by feeling instead of anything else, but eventually they get there.

“How’s the cut?” Tucker asks, although “cut” seems way too casual of a way to be talking about that fucking knife wound.

Locus starts, as if he’s forgotten about it. “It will be fine.”

Tucker sighs. “What’ve you got for bandages?”

Locus hesitates. “My shirt?”

“Shit.” Tucker investigates the cell, and finds a spare shirt, tossed to one side at some point. Tucker rips it up and tries to do his best, but there’s a reason they still keep Doc around, and it’s not for his tips on healthy living.

It’s only then that Tucker sits back, and glares.

“What the _fuck_ , Sam?”

“He said he’d leave you alone if I went with him,” Locus says. “I’m—Lavernius, I didn’t think—”

Tucker swallows anything else he has to say about that, because, well… it’s been three months. Locus clearly bought them _some_ time.

“Tell me everything,” he says instead.

Felix comes back a few hours later. “You going to behave, Tucker?” Felix asks. Tucker doesn’t answer, just glares.

“Good,” Felix says, and he pulls out a box of matches. “Then let’s get started, shall we?”

After he’s done with Locus, after Locus’ arms and legs are littered with new burns and his screams are done echoing in Tucker’s ears, Felix takes Tucker out of the cell to get food.

“You’re sick,” Tucker says. The smell of rotting meat is even worse, outside of the cell.

“Maybe,” Felix laughs. “But you made me this way, Tucker. Don’t you forget it.”

Tucker doesn’t point out that Felix had been a sick and twisted fuck long before he’d met Tucker.

“So here’s the thing,” Felix says, reaching out and touching Tucker’s face. Tucker refuses to flinch away, but he’s not sure if Felix wins or loses because of that. “When you get too _heroic_ to handle watching Locus take the pain, just let me know, okay? I’ll let you tap in.” His thumb traces Tucker’s cheekbones, almost reverently. Tucker wants to puke.

“What if I don’t?”

Felix shrugs. “Then you stay like this, and Locus takes the hits. I mean, it’s what I would do.” Felix grins. “But you’re supposed to be better than me, aren’t you?”

Tucker goes back to the cell with food for him and Sam in his arms. He puts ice on Sam’s burns, and he wonders how long he’ll last.

He doesn’t tell Sam about the offer.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts are still open over on Tumblr! I'm secretlystephaniebrown over there.


End file.
